


Out of the Shadows

by CaptainOzone



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arthur Finds Out, Friendship, Gen, Gwen-Merlin bonding, Hurt/Comfort, Magic Revealed, POV Gwen, Post-Magic Reveal, Post-Season/Series 04, Pre-Golden Age, Pre-Season/Series 05, Reveal, Reveal AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:05:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4459406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainOzone/pseuds/CaptainOzone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been a week of silence and forced "normalness," and Gwen has had enough of it. Sometimes, the only way to get things done is to do it yourself, and Gwen takes the first step... by simply asking for a dance. Gwen-Merlin bonding. Reveal/post-reveal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on ff.net, 01/05/2013 . A gift for carinims01.

It had been a week.

It had been a full week of silence, of forced laughter and shifty eyes. No one said anything—no, it was more that no one _could_ say anything, not without fearing for their lives, not without fearing that the fragility of this arrangement might just prove to be _too_ fragile, not without fearing the death glares and wide-eyed stares they might receive, and _certainly_ not without fearing that this was something that would never be fixed and that anything that they did or said would only make things worse.

The fear was so great that even Gwaine, one of Merlin’s closest friends and one of Arthur’s most loyal knights, even Gaius, Merlin’s father in all but name and Arthur’s uncle in all but blood, and even Guinevere, Merlin’s first friend in Camelot and Arthur’s wife, said nothing. Even the most strict and stuffy council members, who were suspicious and edgy about the entire situation, didn’t say a word.

All they could do was whisper secretly amongst themselves as they watched helplessly from the sidelines and pretended as though nothing had happened.

But something _had_ happened, and everyone had seen it. _Everyone_ knew of it. The entire castle, the people of the Lower Town… Everyone.

Yes, something had happened a week ago. There was no denying it. Things might appear normal, but there was nothing normal about the way everyone watched and waited with bated breath and pained hearts as their king and his manservant skirted and tiptoed around each other.

Because the very _day_ after that certain something had happened, Merlin had come back to serve. Despite everything, he had returned to his servant duties, and without being asked or told or ordered, he did his chores. No quips were thrown when the king had complained about misplacing his belt (which laid in plain sight at the foot of his bed), no impish grins were flashed whenever Arthur (who was doing better at acting _normal_ than anyone else) said something sarcastic, and no banter and bickering echoed throughout the halls.

Merlin followed Arthur like a shadow—as always—but he did so with his head down, dulled blue eyes glued to his boots and his insolent tongue locked away.

Arthur did nothing about it, and he didn’t address Merlin at all. He allowed Merlin to follow him to the council chambers and the training grounds, to bring them dinner, and to do his chores, but he ignored the younger man as though he was empty space. Others quickly discovered that, until _they_ and they alone worked through this, _no one_ was to speak with or so much as _acknowledge_ the warlock.

For a warlock he was.

That day a week ago—it had been a normal day. Merlin had woken Arthur late and had subsequently gotten yelled at. Gwen recalled feeling amused that Arthur continued to threaten him with stable duty when they all knew full well that the servant—he might have been a servant _officially_ , but unofficially, Merlin was _far_ more than that, and everyone recognized it— was far too important to be punished in such a petty way.

She had pointed this out to the king, and while Arthur had scowled, Merlin had laughed. However, despite the different reactions, both pairs of blue eyes danced and sparkled with good humor.

Naturally, Merlin’s tardiness had made all three of them late (another normal, everyday occurrence) but they hadn’t been late to council.

The people had been waiting restlessly in the courtyard for their king and queen to announce the date on which their anniversary celebrations would begin, and it had been when she and Arthur had stepped out onto that balcony to address their eager and excited people that the word ‘normal’ had become completely obsolete.

Gwen didn’t remember much of what had happened next. She definitely recalled the horrible sound of crumbling and cracking masonry and the shrieking of the sorceress who had cast the spell, and she most certainly could remember the feeling of her stomach dropping to her feet as the whole balcony shuddered and then _fell_ …

Merlin had caught the balcony, and when in her rage, the sorceress, who had declared herself to be a rogue minion of Morgana looking for a little fun, had hurled a bolt of fiery light at the royal couple, he had caught that too.

His golden eyes would forever be burnt into her memory. She would forever remember how his fierce determination had fled the moment the sorceress had disappeared in a puff of smoke and how quickly terror had replaced it.

The whispers had started immediately, but he hadn’t looked at the people. He hadn’t looked at Gaius or any of the knights.

He had stared at Arthur, waiting… for a reaction that would never come.

The king and warlock’s eyes remained locked for what had seemed like an interminable amount of time before Arthur had turned to the stunned and frightened gathering to announce that the first feast would take place in a week’s time. Without looking back, he had disappeared into the castle, leaving Gwen and Merlin on the balcony.

When Merlin had released a shaky breath and collapsed to his knees, Gwen, confused and shocked to the core, had hesitated. She had been about to run after Arthur, whose non-reaction had frightened her more than anything, but in that moment, Merlin had needed her more than Arthur did. So without _caring_ for the magic and seeing only a hurt, panicking, and trembling friend, she had reached out a supportive and comforting hand.

            He had flinched away, and after realizing the pain he had caused her with the involuntary movement or perhaps _misinterpreting_ that pain in her eyes, he had scrambled to his feet, backed away, and _ran_.

She, of course, had dashed after him, and to her surprise, she had found herself following him to Arthur’s chambers, where he tried in vain to get the king to look at him, speak with him, _understand_ him.

The silent treatment might have seemed childish to others, but Gwen had seen from the heartbroken, desolate expression on Merlin’s face that Arthur’s silence was the cruelest punishment he could have received.

After rambling about how he was born with it and how he used it only for him— _only for you, Arthur…you and Camelot—_ and how he was the _same_ Merlin that served him for nearly a decade and that his magic didn’t change a single thing, Merlin had even _admitted_ that throwing him in the dungeons, threatening him with exile and execution, yelling at him… _anything_ would have been better than this.

And even as Merlin had broken down before his best friend and had asked him to _look at him_ and had mumbled in a shaky tone how _sorry_ he was that Arthur had found out like this and how he _wasn’t_ sorry for having magic, Arthur had ignored him.

When Merlin had offered to leave after a long, tense silence, there had still been no response, and after flashing his shattered, lightless gaze to Gwen momentarily, he had gone.

Torn between her love for men, Guinevere had released a half-sob, half-cry when Merlin stumbled from room, and through her tears—for what she had witnessed was so _wrong_ , so horrible, it felt as though her heart had been torn out through her chest, thrown to the floor, and stomped on—she screamed to her husband, “He saved our _lives,_ and more than that! He’s your _friend_ , Arthur! How _could_ you? _Don’t_ you see—?”

Arthur’s once vacant and distant blue eyes had suddenly flashed with a mixture of intense, raw emotion as he whirled to her, but that flash of emotion had disappeared nearly as soon as it had appeared, making Gwen believe that it had just been her imagination after all.

In a cold, dead voice that made chills run down her spine, Arthur had said, “He is no friend of mine.”

And no matter how much she tried—no matter how much Gwaine and Gaius had tried when they had arrived moments after Merlin had gone…that had been the last they spoke of Merlin, and that had been when the unsaid decree had been passed.

Merlin had returned the next morning and all following mornings, but he walked, moved, and lived alone. Even to Gaius, he was almost a stranger.

She hadn’t been able to find it in herself to be angry at either of them for being so stupid. However, Gwen _did_ feel so _ashamed_ that she hadn’t had the courage to try to talk to Merlin, despite it all. Gaius had reassured her and Gwaine in secret that even Merlin thought that his solitude, even though it caused him so much emotional pain, was for the best. The physician, however, had explained more—that Merlin’s return to his duties was an unconscious will and desire to _show_ everyone who he was and that something like this would not stop him from serving Arthur.

The confession had made tears of frustration and pride well in her eyes.

The physician had also been keeping her updated on the warlock’s status—he didn’t seem to want to eat or sleep or engage in conversation—but he had also said that there were small victories and small signs of progress that Merlin had been privately excited about.

One victory came in the smallest of forms. Apparently, Merlin found it a good sign that Arthur still allowed him to handle both the queen’s food and his own…and that Arthur had allowed him to handle everyone else’s when he had silently and loyally followed him and the patrol party two days ago.

During that patrol, the big victory had been achieved. Gwaine had said that Arthur hadn’t even _flinched_ when Merlin “secretly” performed magic to help rid them of a party of bandits.

It would seem that none of them had. They had merely turned a blind-eye.

Considering that, it hadn’t been too shocking that it was only after they returned from the patrol that Guinevere _finally_ had something to tell Gaius about _Arthur’s_ progress.

After they had returned, something had changed. Perhaps Gwaine had neglected to tell her of the danger they had truly been in, or he had failed to mention how their odds hadn’t been so great and how they had been ambushed in the middle of the night after their posted guard was slain. However, judging by the new, strange gleam in her husband’s now-lively eyes and the way he began to watch Merlin when he thought no one was looking, she hadn’t needed to be told.

Gwen had guessed that, without Merlin there, the whole patrol would have been slaughtered, and Arthur—Arthur was beginning to see, and he was beginning to _feel_ the pain of his decision to treat Merlin as though he didn’t exist.

He was beginning to become curious. Anger and hurt was the basis of this curiosity, but there was no doubting it… especially not after yesterday, when he had walked in on Merlin scrubbing the floor on his hands and knees.

After watching Merlin leave with the bucket of soapy water, she had heard him murmur to himself with a perplexed crease in his brow, “Why doesn’t he just…?”

She had pretended that she hadn’t, but inwardly, she had been smiling…and preparing an excuse to rush off to Gaius and Gwaine.

But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Guinevere, who felt guilt gnaw at her heart, hadn’t even _thanked_ him for saving her life, and after she had figured a few things out, she had realized that there would not be time enough to thank him for all that he had sacrificed for them.

And it was her _anniversary_. She and Arthur were celebrating one of the most important days in their adult life, and the person who had made it all possible, the one who had stood by their sides throughout it all…

No more. This had gone on _long enough_.

At first, she thought that he hadn’t come. Throughout the entire dinner, Guinevere did not see a trace of him, and after swallowing the lump in her throat, she cast off her disappointment as silly. He might not be _serving,_ but he was here, just out of sight; he wouldn’t miss this—not for the world.

While dining, Guinevere did her best to be involved during conversations and to keep her laughter light and genuine, but in reality, her mind was only half-focused on those around her while the other half was always on the search for Merlin.

It might not have been obvious to anyone else, but she knew that Arthur, too, was more distracted than usual. His smiles never reached his eyes, and on more than one occasion, she saw his weary gaze scan the room.

It wasn’t until after their bellies were full, after the musicians took out their instruments, and after women began to drag their men out onto the dance floor that she caught sight of Merlin standing in the shadows of a pillar, smiling lightly as the dancers twirled and laughed.

Those who noticed him froze where they stood, and whispering amongst themselves, they edged away. If Merlin took offense by their wariness, he did not show it, and instead, he tapped his fingers against the pillar in time with the beat. In fact, he seemed far too entranced by the lively music to take much notice of anyone, and a tender smile began to grow on her face.

As she stared at the warlock, all of the frustration and hurt that had built up over the past week suddenly threatened to spill, and feeling her resolve harden, her tender smile morphed into something a little less sweet and a little more devious…rebellious.

She was going to _force_ these two to talk it out. They were behaving like children by refusing to have a mature, open-minded discussion about Merlin’s magic, and it made her light-headed and sick to her stomach to consider the amount of pain they were causing each other _._

The pain it caused _her_ to see Arthur like this, to see Merlin shunned…it was probably nothing in comparison to theirs.

To be rejected by your brother, to have a bond such as theirs and discover it to be interwoven with lies…

Enough was _enough,_ and Merlin—a wave of guilt nearly consumed her. Merlin didn’t deserve this, and she had let this go on for far too long.

The funny thing was…even though Guinevere knew that what she was about to do would change everything and perhaps get quite a few people (without counting Merlin and Arthur themselves) upset or furious, she was sure they’d look back on this day some time in the future and _laugh_.

It was time to show the world what she had learned from Merlin over the past week, and it was time for the world to accept Merlin for who and what he was.

This was the first step.

“Arthur,” she said in a steady, innocent voice, “will you excuse me for one moment?”

The king’s sapphire eyes gleamed playfully, and he whispered in her ear, “I’ve only just got you back from Elyan. I’m not keen to lose you again tonight to another one of my knights. _Particularly_ not Gwaine.”

Gwen swatted at him, and despite the fact that she couldn’t _stand_ this ‘normalness’ a second longer, she laughed. “It was my brother, and it was _one_ dance, Arthur!”

“One too many in my opinion.”

Kissing his jaw briefly, she said, “Allow me this, and you don’t have to give me up the rest of the night, I promise.”

 He released her waist with a smirk and said, “I’ll hold you to it.”

The first few steps she took away from him went unnoticed by all except Merlin, whose stormy blue eyes flickered to her almost immediately and widened when he realized what she was doing.

The queen ignored the small admonitory shake of his head and the sudden feeling of eyes pressing down on her from all sides as one by one, couple by couple, the guests stopped in their tracks, gaped, and stared as she made her way through the crowd to the solitary sorcerer.

Her brown eyes didn’t once leave his face, but his did. After casting a panicked look over her shoulder (at Arthur, no doubt, who was probably glaring up a storm), he shuffled and avoided her eyes.

“Merlin,” she said, coming directly up to him and smiling. “Dance with me?” 

“I—You shouldn’t be here, my Lady,” he murmured in response. “The king—”

“I’m damn right where I should be, and I’m damn right where I should have been a week ago.” His shoulders tensed, but she was unsure if it was her words or the harsh tone in which they were said that caused the reaction. With a gentler tone, she said, “And don’t worry about Arthur right now. It’s just you and me, so please, Merlin, drop the titles.”

When he continued to refuse to look up to meet her eyes and when she studied him—and _really_ looked—for the first time in a week, a pang wracked her heart. “Oh, Merlin,” she choked, covering her mouth.

He looked awful. The shadows he was standing in did nothing to hide the dark circles etched under his eyes, and they contrasted with the pallid color of his face. Stubble dusted his jaw, and there was a visible weight on his shoulders, forcing his posture into that of a subservient, defeated underling. Without thinking and completely unconscious of the audience she had, Gwen reached out for one of his pale hands. His fingers twitched and tensed anxiously in hers, and after she squeezed them gently, she felt him relax.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry.”

Raising exhausted, carefully guarded eyes, Merlin’s brow furrowed, and he muttered, “No, Gwen—”

“Don’t you _dare._ I left you alone…I didn’t fight for you, I didn’t… Merlin…”

“It’s only what I deserved,” he said with a weak smile.

“You listen to me right now, Merlin,” Gwen said in a stern tone, eyes flashing. “We will work this out. Together, like we always do. I, personally, don’t _care_ about the magic. I care about _you_. Yes, it hurt to realize that you’ve been lying to us, but I _understand_ why you did so, and I _don’t care_.” 

“You—you don’t care?” Merlin repeated weakly.

“Yes…well, no. I do care. I care a lot because this is _you_ , Merlin. Magic—this is who you are, and you’ve shown us how foolish we were not to believe. Well, I _believe_ , Merlin. I believe in magic,” she said, tears beading in her eyes. “And this—this has to stop. Damn the laws for now; damn the prejudice. Laws and mentalities cannot erase years of service, sacrifice, and friendship. I can’t stand seeing you two at odds like this anymore. I _miss_ you, and though he’d never admit it, he does too.”

His eyes shifted from hers and softened, and following his gaze, she threw a glance behind her and saw Arthur standing as stiff as a pole, his cold glare replaced by something else entirely as they met Merlin’s.

Seeing an undercurrent of fear flashing through his eyes, she asked gently, “Tell me something. You came back. Why? Why did you return to serve after your magic was revealed?”

Merlin pursed his lips, and with eyes glowing with an intensity Gwen had only ever seen whenever he was going to speak from the heart, he said, “I could have run, and—and I nearly did. But—” those expressive eyes once again flickered to Arthur “—he is my king, my friend. Camelot is my home. No matter what my fate may be, no matter what he thinks or what anyone else thinks, I was born to serve him, and I will gladly die doing so. My life, my magic—it is his.”

While Guinevere had expected an answer imbued with the power of Merlin’s loyalty to Arthur, she could hardly believe her ears, and instead of searching for words that could express herself correctly, she enveloped him in a hug. 

After squeezing him tight for a few moments, Gwen pulled away. “Dance with me, Merlin.”

He held up his hands defensively, and after casting his gaze about the room, he stuttered, “Um…I don’t really think that’s a good idea. I shouldn’t—”

Memories of a shy, awkward girl trying to deny her feelings for a certain prince resurfaced, and she said with a sly smile, “Should and shouldn’t is subjective, Merlin, but I want to convince you, as you helped convinced me, that you _should_. You know better than _anyone,_ after all. You were born with magic, and yet you are _here._ In Camelot. So don’t mind them. Take a stand for yourself, and come on.”

She tugged his arm, and after stumbling forward and blushing, he yelped, “I can’t dance, Gwen.”

The crowd, who had been silent and stock-still until this moment, released small noises of amusement, and even Arthur, she couldn’t help but notice, hid a small smile.

“I’ll teach you.”

“I’ll—I’ll probably end up ripping your skirts or knocking over your flowers and bruising your shins.”

“You’re just making excuses now,” Gwen laughed, pulling him further out of the shadows. “It’s my anniversary, Merlin. Please? Indulge me.”

That was a _bit_ of an underhanded tactic, and she saw his amusement, embarrassment, and uncertainty battling for dominance. “I—”

“Trust me,” she whispered before he could get another word out.

Merlin’s blue eyes cleared, and he said without hesitation, “I trust you.”

Beaming, Guinevere rounded on the musicians, who had been gawking all the while, and said happily, “Come on, you lot. We’ll need some music.”

Cautiously, they looked between their king, who looked more stunned than anything, and their queen, who nodded at them expectantly, so after shuffling awkwardly, they began to play.

Gwen placed Merlin’s hands on her waist and shoulder, and she muttered soothingly, “Just relax, and follow my lead.” And as they began to twirl, Gwaine—bless him—grabbed a breathless, giggly noblewoman by the hand and pulled her onto the floor as well. Others eventually copied his actions, but their eyes never left the warlock and queen.

It was half way through the song that Merlin’s bright grin began to fade a little, and their companionable silence was broken. “Thank you, Gwen,” Merlin whispered. “For causing a scene. I needed that.”

“No, Merlin. Don’t thank me. I—I haven’t even thanked you yet for saving my life.”

“I never wanted a ‘thank you,’” Merlin murmured, tripping over the hem of her dress. There was a depth and sadness in his eyes that made them appear ancient, and Gwen’s eyes became wet yet again when she realized what it was he truly wanted, the only thing he had _ever_ wanted.

Acceptance.

“That’s not why I do it. It was enough that you and Arthur were safe.”

“That’s not the only time you’ve saved our lives,” Gwen refuted. “You’ve done so much for us.”

“You don’t realize—Before I came here, Gwen,” Merlin said, stormy eyes boring into hers, “my magic had no purpose, but I found that purpose. In a prat of a prince no less…”

She laughed, and he continued, “I would be nothing without you all, and I don’t know what I would be or where my magic would have taken me.”

“You speak of it as though it has a mind of it’s own.”

“In some ways, it does,” Merlin said with bright eyes. “I’ll have to explain it to you sometime.”

“I can’t pretend I understand your gifts just yet,” she admitted, twirling around one last time as the song ended. “But I want to learn to understand them. I’m sure we all do.”

“That’s assuming I’m allowed to live,” Merlin joked, the darkness of his joke contrasting greatly with the impish gleam in his eye.

“Haven’t killed you yet, have I?”

Gwen whirled to Arthur, who had come up from behind when the dance ended and whose smirk neither hid his lingering anger and hurt nor his uneasiness at the situation.

Merlin blinked at Arthur before chuckling weakly and then breaking out into peals of laughter. Guinevere, unsure if the hysterical laughter was a good thing or a bad thing, was about to comment about how morbid it was that he was _laughing_ at the subject of his possible death when Merlin collected himself and said sarcastically, “I thought I was nonexistent.”

Arthur snorted and avoided his eyes. “Shut up, Merlin.”

With that familiar response, Gwen knew that everything would be alright, and unable to contain her joy at her success, she covered her mouth with both hands.

“I don’t think so,” the warlock said quietly, a soft smile growing on his face. “Not this time.”

“No,” the king agreed. “Not this time. Gwen was right. We—I was behaving…awfully.”

“What was that, Arthur?” Gwen said cheekily and smugly. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

He elbowed her playfully and said to Merlin with a half-hearted glare, “I—I hope you know that I’m still furious with you.”

“I know,” Merlin said with a weak grin. “And gods know you have good reason to.”

The sapphire eyes softened, and he held out his hand. “Even so…I am willing to listen now.”

After staring at the outstretched hand, Merlin gripped Arthur’s forearm with a growing smile.

“ _Finally!_ ” Gwaine exclaimed in relief, causing those who had been eavesdropping—magic-sympathizers and magic-skeptics alike—to either exhale a chuckle or cheer.

“After the feast, Merlin,” Arthur said seriously. “We’ll talk.”

Merlin nodded, and grinning victoriously, Gwaine sauntered to them and grabbed Merlin’s arm. He greeted the sorcerer with: “Now that that’s done with… _You_ have quite a bit of explaining to do.”

“And you,” Merlin replied in a teasing tone, “sound like my mother after I accidentally—”

He cut himself off hurriedly, and when Gwaine’s eyes shone with a childish eagerness and interest, Merlin mock-whispered, “I’m doomed.”

As Merlin was dragged away by the roguish knight, who predictably and tactlessly peppered him with questions about his powers, Guinevere felt Arthur’s arm slip around her waist from behind. “Thank you,” he whispered.

She leaned her head back to see his eyes on Merlin, and she said, “What for?”

Arthur smirked suddenly—Merlin was beet red, and the knights were laughing heartily at Gwaine’s last question and Merlin’s reaction—but the amused smirk transformed into a fond smile. “For pulling us out of the shadows.”


End file.
